Learning to Forgive
by FictionMaker007
Summary: Sequel to "Never Forget" where Parker discovers the hitter's darkest secret. Now the struggles begins as to whether the the thief can look past his sin, if the hitter is willing to receive her mercy, and- most importantly- can Eliot learn to forgive himself? Rated K for some angsty-type stuff, I hope you like it.


Parker sat, frozen on the hitter's bed. She listened to him hang up his jacket, his keys, grab a beer from the fridge. Eventually, his heavy footsteps made their way to the bedroom. When he first discovered the thief he looked surprise and annoyed. Then he took in the scene: the tears rolling down her cheeks, his personal belongings scattered on the bed, that accursed letter in her hand. He sighed, partly out of feat but with some hint of relief.

_Please_, Parker's eyes begged,_ tell me it isn't true._

The hitter's had no response. Silence suffocated him for a moment before he cleared his throat and spoke. "So," Eliot's voice was hoarse, "you know." Crossing over to his desk, he put his beer down and leaned against it. He rubbed his chin, "Why didn't you just ask me? If you wanted to know so badly, why didn't you-"

"Don't," started the thief, holding back a sob. She composed herself then began again, "Don't make this about me. About what I should've done."

Another dreadful pause.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I-I don't know." Parker felt his gaze on her, his eyes willing her to look up, to show hatred, anger, confusion, _something_. "I gotta go."

The thief rushed to the door, wiping her eyes. Suddenly, something was tugging at her hand. Looking up, she realized Eliot had grabbed her.

"Parker, don't-"

"Let _go_ of me," she snapped.

"Wait just a-"

"Eliot, you're hurting me."

Reluctantly, he released her. Parker left the bedroom. Her fingers had curled around the doorknob when she heard the hitter plead, "Don't tell them."

Parker paused.

"Don't tell the others, I…if they looked at me the way I look at myself I'd…"

She turned to face him. Eliot was standing in hall. It was then that the thief got to face what the letter had only allowed her to sample: guilt. When she looked into his eyes, she saw guilt; like a rabid animal it tore him apart, ripping him to shreds, eating him from the inside. Her stomach churned when she realized that for so many years, he'd carried the weight of such a sin Parker could barely cope with for three minutes.

The hitter cleared his throat, "She's the reason why I don't like guns. Every time I use 'em, I see her on the other end of the barrel."

Slowly, she walked toward him and he stared intently at the carpeted floor. Parker got so close to him she could feel his breath.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you live with yourself?" She wasn't being sarcastic, nor was she disgusted, the thief was asking a legitimate question.

Eliot looked up, "I…I don't know." He thought for another few seconds, "It took me a long time to find a real reason to get up every morning, but I did."

"Is it us?" she wondered aloud, referring to herself and the team.

Despite the circumstances, he could manage a small smile, "Yeah, it is." He sighed, he dreaded this day, when his unforgivable secret was finally discovered by Nate and the others ever since he'd realized his team had become his family. The hitter had even half-hoped he'd die before he saw the look on their faces. He'd figured it'd be either Hardison or Parker to put the pieces together.

Staring up at Eliot, the thief thought desperately of how to fix the broken man before her, her protector. Suddenly, she knew exactly what to do.

Parker turned away and flipped open her phone. Then she pressed a number on speed dial and waited impatiently for the person on the other end of the line to pick up.

"Hardison?" she asked, followed by a pause. "This is important, I need directions…"

"Parker, I don't know if this was such a good idea," grumbled the hitter. "I mean, I don't know if I can…"

"Of course you can," she insisted.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence and Eliot gripped the ceiling handle of the car until his knuckles whitened. Inside of a half hour they arrived at their destination.

The thief exited the vehicle and started walking until she realized Eliot wasn't behind her. She walked to the other side of the car and opened his door. "Coming?"

"I can't do this, I'm too…" the hitter inhaled sharply. "Look, I couldn't do it seven years ago and I can't do it now/"

"Seven years ago," interrupted Parker, she spoke very carefully and deliberately, "it was just you. Now, you're not alone."

Grateful, he joined her. Together, they walked over to five identical stones. They approached the final resting place of the Halls. He glanced over at the thief who gave him a "go on" look.

The hitter cleared his throat, "Well, here I am," he began awkwardly. "Not sure where you are now but-uh- I hope you can hear. I need to tell you that I-" a choking sound forced its way out of his throat, "that I'm sorry."

Eliot collapsed on the grass in front of the headstones. His contagious tears trickled down the thief's cheeks. She kneeled next to him.

"I'm so sorry," he continued to sob. "It's all my fault, you had lives until I-I took 'em away from you."

Parker wrapped her arm around his broad shoulders and he fell into her embrace. She sniffled, "You know, they don't seem like the type of people to hold grudges."

At that, the hitter cried even harder. With Parker holding him tightly and the tombstones leaning toward him compassionately, Eliot finally learned to forgive himself.


End file.
